


Just Charming

by aspiringtoeloquence



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringtoeloquence/pseuds/aspiringtoeloquence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson has what could be his big break, starring as Prince Charming across from fellow newcomer Rachel Berry in a brand new musical. The experience, including meeting the enchanting new costume designer, promises to be life-changing. <i>After all, you don’t discover your-stage-self and self-confidence eight times a week in front of hundreds of people without it leaving some sort of mark.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: **[](http://a-glass-parade.livejournal.com/profile)[**a_glass_parade**](http://a-glass-parade.livejournal.com/)** , with additional (and vital) input by [](http://idoltina.livejournal.com/profile)[**idoltina**](http://idoltina.livejournal.com/) and [](http://whatiknew.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://whatiknew.livejournal.com/)**whatiknew**. (Special thanks to Tina for the additional formatting help!)  
>  This fic was prompted by inkystars, who won it in the Klaine Charity Fandom Giveaway. She asked for Broadway bound Blaine and Rachel with costume designer Kurt. I hope this fits the bill (and was worth the wait - I can only apologize, this got away from me a little)!  
> Also: I found out very close to the time of posting that there is a musical coming to Broadway based on the same story as the one featured here. I know nothing about it beyond the fact that it exists, as this story was written prior to my awareness, so any possible similarities are purely coincidental. Also, I don’t claim to own any of these characters, so don’t sue me please.  
> [Posted to Ao3 in August 2013]

****  
“-not sure that it really showcases my voice to full effect, and I believe that a rewrite - and perhaps putting my ballad back into Act I - would serve to underscore the emotional resonance of her journey. I know that the audience will deeply appreciate further insight into Ella’s state of ennui-”

The director sighs deeply- not for the first time that day- possibly wondering if it’s too late in life for a career change.

“Rachel... as I’ve already told you, we are not going to-”

“But if we just -”

“And, while the lyricist did _appreciate_ your notes, he asked that you send all future communications through _me_. So, then, shall we go on? Quinn? Are we good for time?”

She gives a thumbs up, indicating another half hour before the next union-mandated break. He glances over to his leading man, who is leaning against a chair, flipping through his script with an air of resigned relaxation. “Blaine? Are you ready to go?”

Blaine stands immediately, grins. “Yeah, sorry. We taking it from the top of the scene again?”

“No, top of the page. After your monologue.” He catches a figure in his peripheral vision, entering the house through the side-doors, settling into the dimness of the back row. He remembers to make a note on his legal pad for later.

*

“...and call for tomorrow’s dance rehearsal will be at the same time,” Quinn announces to the assembled cast, her fingers tapping on her thick stage manager binder as she checks things off. “Tappers will need their rehearsal shoes again. We’re back in the rehearsal space tomorrow - I know it was nice to have the stage today, but we’re not back in here for another few weeks. Okay, that’s all I’ve got. I’ll see you all tomorrow at 10am.” She turns to the director. “Anything else, boss?”

“No, I - oh, yeah.” He taps his finger on the yellow paper. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have our new costume designer.” He silences the growing murmur of voices. “Yeah, I know, I know. Now, as I’m sure you understand, with previews, money-willing, in just over a month, and starting again from scratch, he has his work cut out for him. Quinn will be scheduling fittings around rehearsals, so check your emails, and for god’s sake try not to make his job more difficult than it is, okay?”

“I’m so glad we found someone qualified,” Rachel offers from the third row, voice raised to fill the house. “After that awful incident with Symona -”

Blaine turns in his seat. “On the bright side, Rach, maybe this one’ll let you wear shoes.”

Rachel’s lips purse and she sniffs. “Concept production _indeed_...”

“I don’t know, I kind of liked the whole grey theme,” he replies with a grin, and Rachel straightens her spine, poised to attack.

It’s usually best to cut her off before she gets a head of steam, and the way Quinn is rolling her eyes means the the patience in the room is probably dwindling. “Okay, thank you. Blaine and Rachel, if you could both go in for a fitting before rehearsal -”

“I have an extra voice lesson,” Rachel says seriously, as though it’s a state occasion. “But I can stay after, if that will work.”

Quinn waves a hand to indicate that she’ll check, and Blaine crosses his legs. “Before’s fine,” he agrees easily, and laughs when one of the ensemble members makes a face.

“Great - Kurt said he’d be here at 8:30,” Quinn checks. “Preliminary fitting at 8:45? We probably won’t use you until 10:30.”

“Works for me.”

“Excellent. Everyone else, fitting times will be emailed to you. Get some rest.” Quinn snaps her binder closed definitively and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

As the group disperses, Blaine approaches the table, “Just so I don’t embarrass myself, what’s the costume designer’s name? I mean, I’m assuming they’ll be the one with the clothes and the harried expression, but...”

The director consults his notes, just to check. “His name’s Kurt. Kurt Hummel.” He shrugs. “I’ve never heard of him, but apparently he’s the next big thing. Stephen and Marsha swear by him, anyway.”

Blaine nods, pulls his bag over his shoulder, bumps shoulders with Quinn, who smiles. “Here’s hoping for no leather pants this time, hey, Quinny?”

“Say what you like,” she offers as she packs up her things, “I still say you made the hottest Fiyero the nation had ever seen.”

“ _You_ didn’t have to spend the entire tour squeezing me into those pants - _twice_ on matinee days.”

Quinn veers off with her keys near the doors to shut the building down.

“You’ll like Kurt,” she says with certainty, apropos of nothing.

He leans into the wall. “Why?”

“I just... I met him yesterday, and I think you’ll get along well.” Her expression is soft as she backs away.

“What does that mean? Quinn... Hey, Q, you guys are playing that gig on Saturday, right?”

“If I can get everyone together to practice before then,” she calls across the house. “See you tomorrow. And... wear something nice!”

Blaine considers asking why, but she has already disappeared through a side door. He shrugs, slides his sunglasses onto his head, and wonders if his favorite jeans are clean.

*

The costume shop is cluttered, to say the least. There are racks of clothes everywhere, fabric swatches spread across the large worktable in the center, mannequins in various states of undress. When Blaine peeks his head it at 8:40 the next morning the only indication that there’s anyone alive in there is gentle humming drifting from the back of the room, sweet and clear, punctuated by the occasional curse.

“Um... hello?”

There’s a muffled shout, then a hand waves from behind a rack. “Hi! I’ll be out in a second. Sorry, I just -”

“It’s fine. Can I help?”

A head pops out, and Blaine blinks. It’s a very nice head, with an amused expression, and really nice eyes. And it’s followed by a body. Which is also nice. Very, very nice.

“You,” the very nice head-body-person says, running a hand over his hair, “must be my Prince Charming.”

And damn if Blaine doesn’t have to bite his tongue to avoid saying he’d certainly like to apply for the position.

“Blaine,” he offers with a wave, too far away to shake hands without capsizing a rack or two.

“You must be Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt flashes a smile, picks up a folder off the desk. “So sorry for the...” he trails off and waves a hand towards the general chaos. “I’m a little shorthanded right now, and as you can see everything seems to have been shoved in here kind of haphazardly. But I’ve been putting a few things together, based on what was already here -” he smirks at the flash of panic in Blaine eyes. “Ah, yes, my predecessor had quite the eye. I’m hoping you won’t mind if I take it all in a slightly different direction.” Blaine snorts, relieved, and Kurt continues. “I’m just not sure you could pull off that level of sequins, you know?”

He’s still smiling, a little unsure, so Blaine offers a huff of false annoyance. “I’ll have you know that my second summer in rep I did _Cabaret_ \- and I _rocked_ the sequins.”

Blaine can see a flash of teeth now, and as he shuffles through a rack Kurt appears to be stifling a giggle. “Typical. Ask an actor a question and he gives you his resume.”

“ _Goodbye Girl_ ,” Blaine says automatically. “Good movie.” Kurt look surprised as he curls his fingers around a hanger.

“We have less time than I’d like, so I’m improvising around this for previews, and we’ll rework anything we need to.” He hands Blaine a shirt, pulls a sketch out of the pile. “I’m thinking something like _this_ for the ballroom - I have boots for you to try, and a jacket - can you try that on first? There’s pants hanging in the dressing room. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll come check the length.”

He takes a moment as he’s leaving to let his eyes drift over Kurt, who is examining a pile of scarves draped over a chair. He’s gorgeous, yes, but more than that, his outfit is _interesting_ \- which, okay, isn’t all that surprising, given his profession, but the asymmetric handprints on his navy blue turtleneck, peacock brooch pinned to lapel of the striped blazer that’s hanging next to a satchel on the desk... they’re all different, a little more intricate than he’s used to seeing, even in New York theater. And even without his second cup of coffee this morning he’s feeling awake, excited, and he knows that a large part of that has nothing to do with rehearsals, or the bar he’s supposed to be meeting friends at afterwards.

“...Blaine? Did you need something?”

He comes back to himself, realizes that Kurt is watching him stand frozen in the doorway.

“No, I - I’ll just be a second.”

He knows he’s blushing as he moves to the door, and it’s only catching a glimpse of Kurt reflected in the hall mirror, smiling after him with a flush of pink in his own cheeks, that he feels a little better.

*

“So,” he asks as Kurt pins a hem into his pants - of course they’re too long, his pants are always too long - “how did you end up here, anyway?” When Kurt looks up, raises an eyebrow, he stammers. “I mean... not that I’m not glad - you’re - I just - you know...”

Kurt lets out a chuckles as he removes the last pin from between his lips. “I know what you meant. It’s unusual circumstances, and I’m young for this job. The short answer is... luck.”

“Luck?’

“One of my teachers from school, she directs and... knows a lot of people. She hired me to costume a couple of shows after graduation, which led to several small theaters, which led to assistant designing for off-broadway, which got me seen by someone who liked what they saw, which got me a few jobs... which led me here.”

“Oh.” He takes a breath. “Sounds like more than luck to me.”

Kurt half shrugs. “How about you?” He taps a knee, and Blaine stands up straight as he begins to adjust. “How does one become Prince Charming?”

“Hours of practice in the bathroom mirror,” Blaine says seriously.

“I can imagine.”

“If only I were kidding. But... I don’t know, I guess was in the right place at the right time,” he shrugs. “Out of college I wasn’t really getting anything -”

“I know that feeling.”

He files that away for later. “...I got a few rep seasons, a swing understudy, then swing on two tours, I worked my way up to featured ensemble - then I got called in for _Wicked_ ’s at the last minute. I thought it was for ensemble, Boq, maybe, if they were desperate but... well, after that I got offered the workshop for this. Or something like it.”

Kurt smiles. “A dream job.”

“Of course. You should have seen the look on my friend’s faces when _Wicked_ went through Columbus.”

Kurt yelps and brings his finger to his mouth to suck on it. Blaine keeps his eyes deliberately on the wall in front of him. “Sorry, you’re... you grew up in Ohio?”

“Westerville, yeah.”

“Lima.”

“No way.” There’s another connection, another thread he hadn’t expected. “Do you go back often?”

Another small smile. “Holidays. My family’s there. You?”

“My family’s there too.” He stops short of mentioning the last time he visited.

He doesn’t know if Kurt senses the shift in mood, but he brushes his hands together. “There... done, for now. I’ll let you get to rehearsal. I think I have three ensemble members next, then your leading lady this afternoon.”

He smirks despite himself. “ _Ah, Rachel..._ ”

Kurt eyes him warily. “What does that mean?”

“She’s... Rachel. A star, a dear friend, and a force of nature.” When Kurt doesn’t look any less concerned he smiles, offers a hand to help him up. “You’ll see.”

Kurt tilts his head, takes his hand, and Blaine would be lying if he said he wanted to let go.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, heading for the door. “I’m so glad to be working with you.”

Kurt’s quiet “it’s mutual” as he swings his bag over his shoulders floats around in his head for the rest of the day.

*

“...perhaps a little direct and unorthodox in his approach, but what he said about pastel tones and my skin really resonated - oh, Blaine! Here!” He shifts his script into his other hand so he can take the coffee Rachel is holding out, leans to listen to the conversation she’s having with several cast members outside the rehearsal hall. “As I was saying, he has such innovative ideas, you know, about the manifestation of Ella’s connection to her clothes. And while I disagree on some points-”

“He talked her out of the pink ball-gown,” Tina mutters to him as she uses him for balance and stretches her hamstrings. “This guy’s a miracle worker.”

“Mmmm,” Blaine hums into his cup. “Speaking of miracle workers, where’s your groom-to-be? I need him to go over the new ending of “More Than I”.”

“They’re having a choreography meeting, at which the Dance Captain’s presence was requested,” Tina explains with an eyeroll. “Which is apparently why I was dragged uptown at the crack of eight o’clock.”

“You poor baby,” Blaine sympathizes, steadily ignoring the tugging on his arm. “You know, I think - Rachel _what is it_ , and why can’t it wait until I’ve finished my drink?”

“I was just saying that Kurt seems very good, doesn’t he?” Her eyes sparkle with something Blaine recognizes as potentially dangerous. “Very _competent_.”

With Rachel avoidance is always the most likely escape route. “Mmm, yes. Speaking of which, did I tell you how much I enjoyed your run-through of “Pumpkin Promenade”? That last note-”

“Yes, thank you, but as I was saying, I really think that Kurt will be an asset to our group -”

“He seems like he knows what he’s doing, yeah -”

“I’ll bet he does,” grins one of the male ensemble members, who Blaine is beginning to realize that he never liked anyway. “He’s seriously hot.”

He realizes that he’s not the only one glaring when Rachel clicks her tongue impatiently. “My point is, Blaine, that Kurt is a very intelligent, funny, talented individual, whose insight-”

“What are you trying to get at here? Because the last time you talked about someone this much it was because you’d started doodling hearts all over your script. God, please tell me we’re not doing this again.” It isn’t beyond the realm of possibility for Rachel - she can be woefully intense about these things.

Rachel scoffs. “Of course not. As beautiful as our children would doubtless be, I think I’m really not his type.”

It’s on the tip of Blaine’s tongue to say that that didn’t stop her with the chorus member from the extremely short-lived revival of _Love Never Dies_ , but he doesn’t quite have it in him. Besides, he’s sort of distracted by the thought of Kurt, because yeah, he’d certainly suspected that their inclinations might be compatible, especially when Kurt _might_ have actually been checking him out, but it was still nice to have some outside confirmation. “Well, you never know.”

Rachel waves a dismissive hand. “I know these things, Blaine. As the product of a loving same-sex relationship I can recognize the -” at Blaine’s raised eyebrow she deflates a little. “Fine. I added him on Facebook. But now I can provide you inside informa-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Blaine Anderson, don’t you go pretending like you weren’t all moony-eyed yesterday, although having finally met Kurt I can certainly see why. He’s very-”

The rest of the cast is arriving, and someone opens the doors to the studio. Blaine shoots a pleading look to Tina, but Mike has returned and they’re busy being adorable and in-love. As happy as he is for them, right now it’s really inconvenient.

 _Typical._ “Rachel, this is not a thing you need to get involved in. You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, really? I’m imagining the way he asked me about you?”

They’re moving in to drop their bags near the wall, and Blaine really can’t stop himself from replying, “He asked about me?”

“Well, as I was telling him about my dream of starring in a revival of _Funny Girl_ -”

“And how soon was this after you met him?”

“- and he said he could see that I make a very strong leading lady. And I told him I’d always known I was meant for this-”

“Rach-”

“-and then he asked me if I’d known you before the show, and so I told him about _Joseph_ , when we met-”

“You _didn’t_?!”

“-and he thought it was adorable.”

His brain is squeaking _really!?_ , but he manages to frown. “Rachel, you need to-”

Quinn opens the door again, and the cast starts moving. Rachel continues to babble about her duty as his friend, and helping him help himself. It’s around “ - some of the best relationships are based on a mutual friend’s selfless intervention- ” when he sees Quinn smirking, and narrows his eyes.

At the end of rehearsal Quinn is making announcements, and she asks if he can drop by for another fitting the following evening. He gives her a look, and her answering doe-eyed stare does nothing to calm his nerves.

*

The next day is fairly catastrophic. An ensemble member sprains her wrist during the dance call for “The Godmother’s Lament”, several people seem to have entirely forgotten their blocking since the last time they ran the end of Act I, and Blaine’s pretty sure that the guy playing his footman didn’t manage to enter on cue once. His own voice cracks on the high note in “Just Charming”, which has _never_ happened before, and even Rachel’s sort of pep talk at break ( _all true greats have off-days_ ) doesn’t do anything to lift his mood. He’s ready to go home, curl up with his cat and eat a bowl of pasta, watch something truly terrible on TV, maybe, and Quinn’s reminder that he has to meet Kurt in half an hour really just deepens his despair. He doesn’t have the energy to be engaging or interesting right now, and Kurt is going to see that, see that he isn’t always Blaine Charming, and then Kurt’s going to marry some hot blonde guy with an accent and chiseled everything, who doesn’t have to go over the choreography to the finale four times in the same day to get it right.

And Blaine will be left with his pasta.

Logically he knows that the show isn’t doomed. They’ll work through it, tomorrow will be better. Hopefully Leila’s arm will be fine, they’ll work Act I, Mike will put them all through their paces. He knows that, and he’s been in shows that were in far worse shape.

He just wants to get to tomorrow as soon as possible, and he’s pretty sure it shows.

Which is why he isn’t surprised when Kurt looks up from a sketch, at a desk in the newly organized shop, to find him in the doorway, smiles, and then his face drops. “You okay?”

“Fine. Bad day, that’s all. You have something for me?”

Kurt doesn’t look too sure, but he takes the cue. “...yes. I found a great uniform for you, for early in Act I. It’ll need some alterations-”

“Let me guess, hemming?”

“-but I think it’ll work really well. One of the team dressed it up, and she has a good eye. Oh, and I have a few ideas that I want to run by you.”

He smiles weakly and drops his bag on the table. “Sounds good.” Everyone else is gone already - it’s well after seven, and there’s enough time until the show goes up that no one seems to be panicking yet. He leans against the doorjamb.

Kurt eyes him, hesitates. “You know, if you don’t want to do this now we could probably reschedule-”

“No, no, I’m sorry.” He shrugs. “I’m just tired. I don’t mean to be difficult.”

Kurt laughs. “This is your version of difficult? Dress an opera, Blaine. Then talk to me about difficult.”

He waves his hand in the direction of the men’s dressing room. “The clothes are hanging in there. Call me when you’re ready.” He turns away, adds over his shoulder “And, by the way, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Blaine can’t help but hold his head a little higher, even manages to muster a little smile as he goes to find the promised finery.

*

“-it’s just a little frustrating, you know? To work at something for this long, and it’s still...”

Kurt chuckles as he considers the seam of a jacket. “Oh, believe me, I know.”

“And I know it will be better, I do, but Rachel wanted me to go over to her place with a couple of people and run through the songs, and I just - I just want to take tonight to wallow a little, you know?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. You want some space, that’s not a crime.”

“I know, and she wasn’t even mad, I just -” He bites his lip, because this is something he  
shouldn’t say. It’s the kind of thing that gets taken out of context, and he’s known Kurt for days, and it’s incredibly stupid. “I just wondered today why they cast me, why I took the role - okay, no, I know why I took it -”

“Why?” asks Kurt calmly from the floor, folding fabric around Blaine’s ankles.

“That’s what I’m saying-”

“No, I mean, why did you take the role?”

Blaine blinks at him. “I’m an actor with precious few credits to my name, in one of the most competitive cities on Earth, who was offered a role in an original musical with a fairly high likelihood of being on Broadway. I’d have been insane to say ‘no, thanks, I’d rather sit at home and watch season four hundred of America’s Next Top Model’.”

Kurt tilts his head. “Yeah, but... I’ve seen you in rehearsal. You’re not just... in it for that, are you?”

“Well, no, of course not, but -”

“So what did you see in him?” When Blaine’s eyebrows furrow he clarifies. “What did you see in Charming?”

And Blaine gets what he’s saying - even though the role turned out to be different from what he thought, it was one of those auditions where he’d walked out saying ‘god, I _get_ him. Please let me get it.’

“I - I guess I liked that they were trying to make a different story. Well, no, not a different story, but -” he shifts his weight, winces when he moves straight into a pin. “Aaah, sorry. My bad. No, I just... Prince Charming was always perfect in the stories, right? Rich, kind, happy, with the castle and the family... but when I was all grown up, and got over my crush on him, I wondered about him a lot. About how things were for him. And the song they gave us to audition was “All I Am” - it’s “Just Charming” now, I don’t know if you’ve ever-”

“I have the demo on my ipod,” Kurt confesses, and Blaine’s stomach flips.

“- wow, well, suddenly he’s not this perfect Prince, he’s this guy who’s looking for something, isn’t sure what it is, but he’s not as put together as everyone thinks.” He shrugs. “I really love that about him.”

“He’s real,” Kurt says quietly.

“Yeah.” Blaine’s pretty sure they’re having a _moment_ , but he is historically bad at determining these things. “Can I tell you something?” Kurt nods. “It felt kind of like fate when I got this.” He bites his lip. “In college I had to write a proposal for a Playwriting class - we all had to take one, and most of my friends did the minimum word count, talked about how they’d put music to a stage version of _Die Hard_ , or the latest rom-com.”

“What did you do?”

He makes a face. “I wrote twenty five pages about how I’d like to adapt Cinderella switching the genders, or even just playing with the dynamics. I talked about how maybe there’s another story. I didn’t think she needed to _always_ be saved. Sometimes everyone does.” He finally looks; Kurt’s eyes are still fixed on him. “I got an A minus. My font was too small.”

“You should write it.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “What?”

“You should write it out,” Kurt says, still looking calmly up at him from the floor, legs folded to the side, conviction in his voice. “Your Cinderella. If you want to see it. Even if you never show it to anyone, it’s a story that deserves telling.”

He laughs, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Yeah, maybe someday.”

“I hope you do.” Kurt pauses, holds eye contact for a moment and patting his foot. “Okay, I’m done prodding now. Feel free to go about your evening.”

He’s taken aback all over again by the realization that he’s just spilled at least some of his guts to a stranger. It’s odd, not to mention probably utterly unprofessional. “Thank you - I - I’m sorry to have unloaded that on you. I usually-”

“Please, no, it’s - I’m glad to have helped you let it out. Even a little.”

“It did, a lot.” He moves behind the curtain to get his own clothes. “Thank you.”

When he’s ready to leave, picking up his bag and lingering in the doorway, he notices the cheap coffee-maker whirring in the back corner of the shop (far from any stainable fabrics). “You’re not planning to work all night, are you? Now I feel like a slacker.”

“Just want to make sure the team has everything they need for tomorrow, so we can get things done.” Kurt absentmindedly twirls his pencil, and Blaine finds himself wondering if it’s a stress habit, how long he’s been doing it, why it started. “It’s no nonfat mocha, but it does the job. I won’t be more than an hour or two. Go, you’ve had a long day too.”

“Rachel likes you,” he blurts out, because his brain seems to have been separated from his mouth. “I mean, not like... fourth grade. She just said she thinks you’re good. At your job.”

A look crosses over Kurt’s face. “I’m... glad? I think. She’s intense, but... I guess I like her too.”

“You managed to talk her out of the pink gown and live to tell the tale. I think you’re destined to be friends for life.”

“I’m not sure yet how I feel about that.”

“I don’t blame you.” There’s a long pause. “Well, I’d better-”

“Yeah, me too. See you soon.” Kurt grins. “I hope I get to read your play one day.”

Blaine lets out his breath in a half snort. “My dreams of being a playwright were pretty short-lived.”

He thinks he detects a hint of bitterness in Kurt’s almost inaudible reply. “That doesn’t make them any less worthwhile.”

On the way back to his apartment he decides to indulge, and picks up a pint of fudge ice cream and a bottle of rum. He spikes his hot chocolate, tells Tabitha the tabby about his day, and, when it’s getting towards time to go to bed asks her whether she thinks Kurt’s right. And then whether she thinks Kurt would ever go out with him.

She swishes her tail, wanders out to the kitchen, and he decides she’s probably right on both counts.

*

The next day _is_ better, of course, and even Quinn’s gentle prying over lunch (and Rachel’s less gentle prying for the rest of the day) does little to rattle his nerves. He spends that night singing his way through the soundtrack to _Gypsy_ while he cleans his kitchen, Tabitha watching him suspiciously from her perch on the counter. He’s meeting a friend for brunch in the morning, so he should go to bed at a reasonable hour, but he finds himself sitting in front of his computer with a blank document open.

He doesn’t do much, but after twenty minutes he saves a half page of notes as ‘Blaine Attempts Words - Cinders,’ and goes to bed with a smile on his face.

*

It’s another couple of weeks of gentle prodding by his friends before he sees Kurt again. Well, no, that’s not true, exactly. Kurt’s been around a few times - in and out of the theater, watching a run-through, coming in to talk to someone on the production staff while a scene is going on. But Blaine doesn’t have the chance to do more than wave most of those times, and if he likes to think that those blue eyes linger on him longer than on anyone else (for example _Chandler_ , who, okay, is a nice guy, but can’t seem to contain his energy for more than five seconds, and is it really necessary for him to bounce around like that while Kurt’s here? It’s very distracting to those members of the cast trying to work), well, that’s something he’s allowed to keep to himself.

*

It’s Quinn that does it. Well, Quinn and Wes, because Quinn is a fink, and Wes doesn’t know how to mind his own business.

It was pretty much over when he went to the gig Quinn’s band was playing at a local bar, and after their set she settled at a table with them and nodded to Wes. “So, has he told you why he’s all lovelorn, yet?”

And it’s not like his friends haven’t noticed him being a bit distracted, but for most of them he’d been able to attribute it to purely show related nerves, and with the others he’d been vague enough with that they hadn’t pried.

So much for that.

Quinn tells Wes that Blaine has a crush on the costume designer (which is so not what is happening, because he is not _twelve_ , a declaration that earns him two identically angled eyebrows), and that he’s too much of a scaredy cat to ask him out. Blaine counters this by citing unprofessionalism in the workplace, even if he _was_ interested in Kurt (he is _so_ interested in Kurt). It’s flimsy even to his own ears.

What follows is equal parts pep-talk and berating, until he finally manages to distract Wes by asking about the law firm he’s interviewing for, and a guy from the bar comes over to talk to Quinn.

He’s pretty sure that conversation is what prompted Wes to start texting him inspirational quotes by various world leaders, and Quinn to pointedly mention to him at the end of rehearsal a few days later that some members of the crew will be working late for the foreseeable future.

She’s halfway down the stairs to the street when he puts two and two together and finally calls after her.

*

A few steps from the door he stops, cups carefully balanced in the holder, because the sound from the shop that he’d thought at first must be the radio is, now that he can hear it properly, _not actually the radio at all_.

It’s so much better.

“- _with so much to discover, those paths yet unknown_...” A clear voice is hitting every note. “ _Every day I’m searching for the person I could be..._ ”

Blaine can’t help it, he picks up his line of the duet. It’s one of the most awkward lyrics in the song, one he’s been fighting since he got the first version, but at the moment it seems beautiful. “ _I don’t know where or who he is but I hope I find him to be free_.”

Kurt squawks, swears, and pushes his chair a half foot back from the desk. “Blaine,” he breathes, eyes wide, “I was just -”

“You have an amazing voice, Kurt.” He settles onto the nearest table, avoiding the sewing machine. “It’s so rich, I can’t believe - do you perform, please tell me you perform. I’m sorry I scared you, I just...” he trails off.

When Kurt replies, it isn’t what he expected. “Is that coffee?”

He starts. “Oh, yeah. I just brought you a nonfat mocha -”

“You know my coffee order?”

 _Of course I do,_ he wants to say, but he’s trying to gauge how Kurt feels about that. “You mentioned it. Last time. Well, you mentioned it in passing, and I sort of guessed. And then I checked with Quinn, to see if she’d heard you give your order to someone at a meeting, or anything. I hope I’m not disturbing you, I can go -”

“You know my coffee order.” It isn’t a question this time, and so Blaine places the cup on the desk and returns to his perch.

“Well, yeah.”

Kurt curls his hands around the cup. “Thank you,” he says, quiet until a smile breaks. “I’m going to need this tonight if I’m going to work out Rachel’s changes in Act II.”

“I know at least one of the dressers they’re hiring. She’s amazing.”

Kurt lifts his cup and toasts him briefly. “I know they’re good... I just want it to be perfect.” He takes a long sip, makes a pleased noise, a half-hum half-moan that feels like it soaks into Blaine’s skin. When he opens his eyes they’re grateful and tired. “Thank you, seriously. I owe you.”

“No, you don’t.” There’s another long pause. “Now, seriously, your voice...”

He laughs dismissively, leans back in his chair a little. “I had no idea you were there...”

“It’s amazing, Kurt. You’re amazing. You do perform, right? You must have had training.”

“I... went to NYADA for musical theater,” Kurt confesses, blushing like it’s a dirty secret instead of one of the best performing arts schools in the country. He shrugs. “I still do vocal exercises, but... I’m out of practice. I haven’t had time for a lesson in a while.”

“You sound great,” Blaine says redundantly, because his brain is still sort of broken at the thought that he might be able to get Kurt to sing some more, because _that was Kurt’s voice_. “It’s insane you’re not performing, Kurt, really.”

Kurt breaks eye contact and lets out a huff of breath somewhere between a laugh and indignation. “There were a lot of casting directors who didn’t believe that.”

“So... you aren’t auditioning?” He doesn’t mean it to sound as accusatory as it does. “You stopped?” He blinks. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that -” (except there so, so _is_ ), “I just -”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Kurt says, hand fidgeting around his cup. “I - can we talk about something else?”

Blaine swallows. It’s the first time there’s ever been a moment of real discomfort beyond the awkwardness of new acquaintance, and it doesn’t sit well with him. “Sure. I didn’t mean to interrupt - well, I did, but just to give you coffee, I don’t want to -”

“No,” Kurt says quickly. “No, it’s fine, thank you, seriously, it’s time I took a break. I appreciate it.”

He hesitates. “Before I change the subject, I just want to say one thing, and then I’ll leave it alone.” He sees Kurt tense. “No, I just - I really hope I get to hear you sing again sometime.”

Kurt meets his eye, and if his smile is a tiny bit forced Blaine is just glad it’s there. “Thank you.”

Then they start talking about the latest season of The Bachelor: Paris. Kurt’s expressions, the sound of his laugh at Blaine’s imitation of Troy, the blonde surf instructor who had gotten drunk at the pool party on this week’s episode and fallen in the pool, are almost enough to distract him from his newly discovered love of Kurt’s voice.

Almost.

*

_“Why can’t they see_   
_That I just want to be_   
_More than I - I mean me - I mean I..._   
_I don’t know anymore”_

The cast members who haven’t already left for lunch are laughing, and it’s a gratifying feeling. He tends to forget that Charming is funny, that his search for himself (and, in this song, correct grammar) comes across with a kind of harried, befuddled sweetness. It’s what he aims for, every time, but getting a laugh as he paces the studio, letting out a frustrated noise as Charming loses his train for thought (“More than I -me -we, oh god, what’s it all for?”), gets distracted (“And every time I think I’m there/ I find that - oh my god, my hair!), departs even further from the perfect mold that every Prince Charming he’s seen has fit into. The lyrics can easily not work - they’re muddled if the timing isn’t right, and there’s a fast section towards the end that he still has to practice under his breath on the subway every day, just to make sure he’s still got it down. It’s in the middle of that section during this particular rehearsal that part of him detaches from the lyrics and hears a clear, singular laugh from the corner of the room.

He turns, and Kurt is there, leaning against the inside of the door. Rachel’s on one side of him, beaming, and he can see a couple of the ensemble members eyeing them speculatively from their positions by the mirrors. He focuses on Kurt’s smile, right in his eyeline as Prince Charming sings to himself about wanting to find someone who appreciates him for who he really is.

There’s applause after the final note, Quinn calls a lunch break for everyone remaining, and Blaine takes a swig from his water bottle, eyes locking with Kurt, leaning on the piano across the room.

*

After Kurt has had his discussion with the production staff Rachel links her arm through his and announces that he is joining them for lunch. Although lunch plans with Rachel are news to him, Blaine immediately assures Kurt that he’s completely welcome to join them for Thai (Rachel makes a face but she got him into this mess, so she can deal). Quinn waves off her invitation, and makes broad hints to Rachel that she should too, but in the end the three of them plus a few assorted cast members make their way down the block to the ridiculously cheap hole-in-the-wall that Blaine discovered during his first month in the city.

Lunch is loud and filled with laughter; the restaurant is used to them by now, and they push together tables, squeezing in to make sure everyone gets room (that’s what Rachel says, at least. Blaine privately suspects that the way he and Kurt are shoved into the corner is deliberate, although he’s certainly not complaining).

Their thighs are pressed together under the table, and that knowledge is a constant thrum in Blaine’s head. As he watches Kurt laugh with Rachel, have an earnest discussion with Kyle and Michelle about the rumored revival of Phantom, wrap noodles around his spoon and fork and take careful bites, it feels comfortable. Even with the undercurrent of something in the corner, his heart speeding up on a couple of occasions that their eyes meet over the bowl of vegetables.

He tells Quinn about it later, when she drags him out for a beer after rehearsals, but by the time David and Wes have arrived, and they’ve all switched to shots, he’s reduced to saying things like “Quinny I just want to take his smile and, like, _roll in it_ , and touch his cheek with my fingers to feel it, and his laugh is _like magic_ , you know? And I want to lick him all over, and his legs -”

It’s at this point that she scoops him off the leather of the booth and prods him into a cab, reiterating what she’s been saying all evening, and pointing out that the law of averages predicts that Rachel was always going to have to be right about something _eventually_.

As he rolls into bed that night he sends a painstakingly typed out text to the newest contact in his phone, humming something that’s almost a waltz until everything fades away into blissful rest.

*

His phone is _very loud_ , and so are the cars on the street below him - which seem to have entered some kind of competition to see whose horn can be hit the most number of times in succession - and so is the _world in general_. Blaine is pretty sure that he could sleep for a week, but sadly, although he doesn’t have rehearsals, he promised to meet Rachel at her apartment at noon so they could go over the scenes they’d felt least confident about. When he grabs his phone off the nightstand - and he forgot to charge it, _great_ \- he has three text messages. The two most recent are from Wes and Rachel: an enquiry as to whether he’s alive and a request for him to bring brunch, respectively, but the third is from just after 3am and is a simple “ _I see someone’s enjoying their night off...and the feeling’s mutual!_ ”

Blaine furrows his eyebrows as he tries to work out why Kurt would feel the need to send that at 3am.

_Sent: 2:38am  
goodnighht kurt i hope you enjoy you’renigti love you’re snile and everytinga bout nd im glad youre my friend_

Well, that sort of explained it.

He indulged himself with a faceplant into his pillow, because _really, tequila-Blaine?_ but it could have been a lot worse. At least he hadn’t- well. There were many more catastrophic things that he could have said.

He texts Rachel back in the affirmative, decides on the bagel place on the corner, and informs Quinn that he’s never drinking with her again.

*

“Rachel - open the door! - I swear to god, these vegan pastries are ten times heavier than normal bagels. I think they’re made with _rocks_ or something, so if you don’t open the - oh, th - oh. Hi.”

Instead of revealing a hungry or annoyingly chirpy Rachel Berry the door has swung open and Kurt Hummel is standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” Blaine offers, because his brain seems to have entered a constant loop reminding him that he’s wearing ripped jeans and an old henley, which is not exactly his outfit of choice for being in the presence of fashionable people whose opinion he cares about and whose lips he wants to taste.

“Blaine,” Kurt says with surprise. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry - I... I don’t mean to interrupt. I was supposed to be meeting Rachel -”

“She didn’t say - sorry, come in, here - let me take those. She’s in the shower.” Kurt takes the bag of bagels and goes through to put them on the kitchen counter, and Blaine is sort of confused.

“I... uh, didn’t know I was going to see you today.”

“Rachel asked me over.” He clears his throat. “Obviously. She and the director decided that her hair needed to be a shade lighter, and I made the mistake of admitting I’d helped my best friend dye her hair pretty frequently.”

“You mean Rachel decided.”

Kurt smirked as he pulled a mug from a cupboard. “I suspect you’re right. Coffee?”

“Please. Only if you’re making it anyway.”

“After a full morning of all _that_ I could use another cup.” He turns to fiddle with the machine. “Or five. How do you...”

“Oh, here, there’s a -” and Blaine’s moving to help, point out the little button on the side, because he’s rehearsed enough at Rachel’s to know how her appliances work. But now he’s pressed up to the counter, leaning slightly into Kurt to reach, and Kurt smells really, really good, even with the smell of what he now knows to be dye permeating the apartment (he bets that if he had his face pressed to Kurt’s neck it would smell _even better_ ).

“Thanks,” Kurt says quietly, and after a long moment he moves to spoon out coffee into a filter.

“I’m here to rehearse,” Blaine says unnecessarily, because he’s a little more relaxed now that he knows why Kurt’s here, but what if Kurt thinks he and Rachel are having some kind of _salacious backstage affair_?

Kurt replies, “I figured,” but there’s a little tilt to his mouth. “An actor’s work is never done.”

“Would you like a bagel? I brought breakfast. Rachel didn’t tell me you were here, but I always bring extras - just plain, nothing fancy. Or I have vegan things for Rachel, you could -”

“Plain bagel is fine,” Kurt assures him. “Thank you.”

They settle at the kitchen table (which is also the dining room, because this _is_ New York) and start eating, Blaine’s theory being that if Rachel can’t send him a goddamn text to let him know that the person he might possibly have a huge crush on is at her apartment, then she can eat by herself. He does put the vegan cream cheese in the refrigerator, though, because he is a forgiving sort of person.

After about five minutes Rachel appears, toweling her hair dry, and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Blaine! You’re early.”

He looks away from the napkin drawing Kurt just made - of the expression on Rachel’s face when he suggested platform heels - with reluctance. “No, I’m not. You told me to be here at noon.”

“Oh, did I?” she says breezily. “How forgetful of me.” He’d have to be dense to miss the look she shoots him. “So, what have we been up to?”

Kurt’s hands are wrapped around his mug (pale pink, emblazoned with the words _My Dads Think I’m A Star!_ ) and he traces the rim with one finger. “We were just talking about Marion Cotillard's flawless beauty. And Blaine was sharing tales of his glamorous acting life, up to and including his collaborations with the up-and-coming Ms. Berry.”

“And I’m hoping Kurt was about to start telling me about his own performing experiences,” Blaine adds, and avoids Kurt’s eye when he looks up in surprise.

Rachel has settled herself into a chair with her own cup, and is tearing into a scone with determination. She has a bagel waiting on her plate, and Blaine expects her to speak, change the subject to something a little more Rachel-oriented but...

She catches Blaine’s eye in the short pause. “What? Don’t let me stop you.”

Blaine blinks - he doesn’t often see Rachel turn down an opportunity to dominate a conversation. He meets Kurt’s gaze again, a mix of nervousness and something a little darker ( _should I not have brought up the singing again?_ ), opening his mouth to change the topic himself, when a chirp sounds and Kurt reaches for his phone.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” he says after a few seconds, “sorry for intruding on your rehearsal time -”

“No,” Blaine really doesn’t want to have screwed this up. “No, you don’t have to go, you can stay - right Rach? - we won’t get started for a while, and Rachel has the whole bagel to get through, she’ll nibble at it, she’s like a bunny, honestly -”

Kurt’s already standing, moving to stand behind Rachel. “I’m supposed to meet someone for lunch,” he shrugs. “I’ll leave you to it.” He squeezes her shoulders. “Make sure you use that conditioner, and it’ll look great, okay?” He leans into the half hug she’s reaching up with. “Let me know how it looks.”

“I’ll send you a picture,” she promises, “thank you _so much_. And I’ll let you know if I get those tickets.”

Kurt nods, turns to Blaine. “It was... really nice to see you.”

“Yeah... I mean, you too. It was nice to talk a little.”

“So I’ll... see you?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

After the apartment door clicks shut there’s a long silence, and Rachel raises an eyebrow at him over her cup.

“Shut up,” Blaine says to the world at large.

**


	2. Chapter 2

Rehearsals that week go relatively smoothly, despite the fact that everyone seems to be feeling the pressure. They’re going into dress in the next few days, and so tensions are running high.

Lunch with the cast becomes so stressful that Mike and Blaine make the trek on Thursday to buy themselves ice-cream cones at the touristy creamery four blocks over. They’re back in the theater for most of it, and the sets are looking amazing - it takes a little while to adjust to the things they haven’t already been working with, and they all know it’ll be different again with layers of fabric, corsets, and hats to contend with. Blaine’s mostly impressed that no one has gotten stabbed during fight call.

Rachel brings up Kurt at least once a day, and Tina manages to weasel the story out of him over pizza. Quinn doesn’t even have to bring it up; her pointed glances whenever the subject of costuming (or love, or happiness) come up speak for themselves. He doesn’t really know what to expect from Mike - they have such an easy friendship - but his suspicions are confirmed when Mike takes a bite of his strawberry cone and asks quietly “So, you and Kurt, yeah?”

He’s been concentrating on containing the dribbles sneaking over the borders of his waffle cone, so he takes a moment to respond. “I don’t - whatever they told you, there really isn’t anything to tell.”

“So you don’t like him?”

Blaine lets his elbows rest on the table. “No, I just... Everything’s hectic right now, and it just.. how I feel doesn’t matter. Or how he feels about me. There’s nothing, really, just my imagination.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Funny, I was about to say that those are the only things that matter.” He checks his phone, moves to slide out of the booth. “We should be getting back. But... Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“Kurt seems like a really great guy. I think you guys would be good together.” He shrugs. “Just my two cents.”

He’s pretty sure he pats Mike on the back as they leave, murmurs something in thanks as he tries to avoid his cone landing on a group of kids entering, but mostly he spends the walk back wondering if the universe is conspiring against him, making everyone in his life point out to him how wonderful it could be to be with someone he seems not to be able to get out of his head during what might be the most important weeks of his life.

*

“ - of course I understand, it’s important. No, no, Mom, it’s fine, don’t.” He leans against the lobby wall, tightens his fingers around his phone.“Of course I do, I can easily change them to a later date. It’s really not - no, yeah, I will. You still can, but…together, yeah, it’s fine if you come with him then. I’ll make sure I get those switched...okay. Okay, yeah, give him my love... I love you too, I’ll talk to you in a few days... Love you... Bye.”

He slides his phone shut, allows himself to close his eyes and lean back for a minute.  
“You don’t look like you’re having the best day.”

He opens one eye, and yeah.

“I’m fine,” he smiles. “Just a little confusion with my family’s plans.” When Kurt waits him out he gives in and continues. “Something came up for my Dad... they’re going to have to postpone their trip by a few weeks.” Kurt opens his mouth, and that old urge kicks in - to explain, to justify. “My mom wanted to come see it still, but I think she’d be happier if they came together.”

Kurt looks like he wants to say a great many things, but he settles on a simple “I’m sorry,” and Blaine feels something in him relax. The few people who he feels comfortable mentioning his parents to, usually they press for more. They’re well meaning, but they want to know how he feels about it, what he thinks, what the history is between them.

And the thing is, in this case, it isn’t probably as big a deal as it feels like right now. His parents will come to see him, and his Dad isn’t purposely avoiding the whole thing - they’re in a place where, if they aren’t exactly a chatty, close-knit family, he thinks they’ve taken steps towards understanding one another. His mother really wants to be there, and although his father remains inscrutable, especially when his messages are being relayed through his wife, he doesn’t think this is a deliberate slight . They care, it’s just... difficult. And it’s just going to take him a little while, a few minutes to remember that.

“I didn’t give up on singing.”

He’s surprised. His eyes flick around the empty hall - no-one’s back from lunch yet, it was a long morning - and then back to Kurt, who is still standing there, keeping eye contact, one hand on the knotted orange scarf around his neck, chin tilted down slightly. “What?”

“Singing. I didn’t give up, not really. That’s why I still practice, and take lessons when I can afford it.” He bites his lip, shrugs. “You asked. I’m - after school, I got one costuming job, and I was still going on auditions, and I figured... but there was another, and another, and all of a sudden I didn’t have enough time, but I hadn’t been getting callbacks, and I had to pay rent, I didn’t want to ask my family...” He lifts his chin. “I do love it, this, you know. I’m good at costuming, I know I am. But it’s - I wanted both, above all I wanted to sing, and there weren’t all that many casting directors looking for someone... like me.”

Blaine finds some words. “Your voice, Kurt...”

He shrugs. “Not in high demand, but it’s hard for me not to love it and hate it. I’m just at the point now where it seems like a big step to take into... something uncertain, even if I still want it. I’m not sure where the line is between ambition and... well, stability.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I just... you wanted to know, and I thought... I wanted to tell you that. About me.”

“I - wow...”

“I wanted you to know that’s what I meant about writing being worthwhile... if it’s something you want to do.”

He clears his throat, looks around for reasons he can’t really identify. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it since college, but I don’t really know how to...”

“How to what?” When he shrugs Kurt shakes his head a little. “I’m not trying to force you into anything, what do I know? I just... I think if something is important to you, if you have stories you want to tell, then you shouldn’t give up on that.”

He fiddles with a beltloop. “I have been taking notes for a few things recently.”

“I’d love to read them someday.”

And that, Blaine thinks, that is a moment.

After they’ve both looked away he clears his throat. “How about you? The singing. Is it worth it?”

Kurt gives him a small smile. “I’m working on that.”

Rachel sweeps through the doors to the house, closely followed by several other cast members and Quinn.

Rachel squeals, runs to squeeze Kurt (and who winks at someone like that, Chandler, honestly, it’s just awkward, is what it is), but is quickly shepherded to rejoin the group as it climbs the staircase to the mezzanine. It looks for a second like Rachel might argue, but Quinn raises a single eyebrow and in the end the standoff ends with pursed lips and a cleared lobby once again.

“I have to respect,” Kurt admits, the atmosphere considerably lighter, “Quinn’s intimidation factor.”

Blaine chuckles, feeling substantially more relaxed. “Oh, don’t let the icy veneer fool you.”

“I have no doubt she has a heart of gold. I just also get the sense that she isn’t one to be crossed, and she knows her stuff.”

“She’s a hurricane in ripped jeans and Laura Ashley,” Blaine confirms. “That’s partly why she’s so good at her jobs.”

“Jobs? Plural?”

“Yeah, she’s also the singer in a folk-rock band.” Kurt narrows his eyes. “I swear to god. She and two guys, and a girl who plays the drums. They go by Fearless Foxes right now, but they’re about due for their bi-monthly name change.”

Kurt’s delighted laugh is sudden and so real he feels like he can taste it, sweet in the air. “I’m not as surprised as I thought I was. I guess that’ll teach me to make assumptions.”

Blaine wonders at what point he forgot the basics of flirting, because although he’s always been pretty terrible at it, at least he used to know the theory. And Kurt - Kurt has just made his day brighter by sharing his disappointments and being in the same room. Kurt moves him in so many ways, it feels like surely -

“Well, I’d better let you get back to it, and I’ve got to go make sure everything is set up back there.” He blinks. Kurt’s stepping back hesitantly. “I, uh, hope everything...”

“Yeah, I should get...thank you,” he means. “For just... talking, and listening for a few minutes. It was-”

“- I’m sure everything is hectic, it’s nice to have a few seconds to breathe.”

“Yeah.” When Kurt disappears through the double doors to house left he goes to join his castmates in the mezz, smiles as they oooh and ahhh at the way the set is coming together, feeling calmer except for the little buzz of energy each time he catches a flash of bright orange below.

*

The previews are important, even though they’ve got some big name backers. If the audiences don’t like it they’re sunk and they know it. It’s fifteen minutes to places when Rachel finds Blaine staring into the makeup mirrors aimlessly, and she gently steers him to a corner backstage for their pre-show ritual. Part of him is surprised she remembers - they haven’t worked together since that staged reading over a year ago - but she fixes his collar, takes both hands in her own, and begins with measured breaths, familiar words washing over him.

He can do this. He can be Prince Charming, be Rachel’s leading man, this character, and the actor he was trained to be.

He just needs to breathe, and relax, and get himself ready.

*

By ten minutes to places Rachel has disappeared muttering about lipstick shades, and Blaine is left not really wanting to trek back down to the dressing rooms, hovering backstage in what he hopes is an inconspicuous fashion. His shirt is feeling a little tight around the collar, and he can’t seem to stop playing with it. Maybe if he pulls it down at the back -

“There isn’t a lot of stretch in that, but if you need it adjusted I can probably rig up something.”

He turns to find Kurt nearby, a sequined shoe in one hand as he observes with concern. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.”

“I’m not,” he smiles. “I’m sneaking in. I actually have to go find my purloined seat, but I got an S.O.S. text about the location of a shoe, so...” he shrugs. “How are you doing? Aside from the collar, I mean.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” he replies, concentrating on sounding utterly put together. “I’m great. Pre-show, you know.”

“Nerves,” Kurt nods. “Well, I’m rooting for you - I know you’ll be amazing.”

“I’m not nervous,” he lies.

Kurt gives him a look that’s part question and part grin. “Okay. Well, if you were I’d still say this: you’re amazing, break a leg, and...” he hesitates, turns into the darkened corner for a minute, pulls out a single rose bloom, a yellow rose tipped with deep red. “This is for you.”

He takes it, looks from the flower to Kurt, then back again. “For me?”

“Yes. To celebrate... you.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Kurt’s cheeks are pink (Blaine’s pretty sure his are too, but the dark and make-up probably mask his better). “I’m glad you... I’ll see you after, okay, I have to...” he waves the shoe in the direction of the stage and nearly clocks a stagehand passing by. “Sorry!”

“I’ll see you,” Blaine says, sniffing at his rose - it doesn’t really smell like anything, but he feels like he might catch the scent all the same. When five minutes is called he gives it to the Stage right ASM for safekeeping, goes to check a few things over one last time, and wonders if he’ll have time at intermission to Google the different meanings of a red-tipped yellow rose.

*

Aside from a couple of dropped cues, a rogue picture frame, and a slightly sped up performance of “The Only Dreams I Know” (which puts Blaine at risk to miss his quick change, but thankfully Rena, his dresser, is a genius), Act I goes by perfectly. Tyler and Peta are getting big laughs, as they should, and Rachel, in Blaine’s opinion, has never sounded better. Mike kills his featured dance sections, and Tina rocks her major song as part of the female quartet. By the time Charming is onstage having his royal identity crisis Blaine’s high on the adrenaline of a good audience. The show stopped being hilarious or surprising to them, to a degree, long ago, but these people are seeing and feeling all this for the first time, and Blaine can’t help but feel it with them. The magic of theater.

Charming argues with his father, is unfailingly polite to everyone, and ends up in his bedchamber alone and singing about wanting to know himself, wanting to find someone who can love him as more than the Prince he pretends to be. He’s lost, wondering, a little bumbling and awkward, and the audience seems to be responding.

Tina launches herself at him as he walks offstage at intermission, and when Alicia hands him back his rose she stops mid-sentence to blink at it.

“Secret admirer?” she finally asks, a tilt to her head that gives her amusement away.

“It’s from Kurt,” he admits, and shushes her excited noise. “It’s a professional break-a-leg thing. I’m sure he got some for everyone.”

“I didn’t get one,” she points out, not looking at all bothered. She grabs Rachel’s elbow as she flies past in the direction of the orchestra pit. “Rachel, did Kurt give you a flower?”

“No, I haven’t but I received a large bouquet from-” Her eyes widen at the sight of the rose in Blaine’s hand. “Blaine!”

Luckily someone shushes them, and Blaine makes his escape to the dressing room, where he can touch up his make-up and sigh happily at his flower in peace.

 

*

 

They’re a little off tempo in the Act II opener. The basses have always had trouble keeping their line, which throws everyone else off. A shoe goes flying at some point, and someone rips the seam of their pants. A wheel falls off the moving staircase.

But it’s good.

As he takes Rachel’s hand to lead her forward for a final bow, smiles into the applause, he knows that - whatever happens - he was part of something special tonight. He knows with bone deep certainty that they did the best they could to do justice to the piece they were given, and that he hopes he gets to do it again tomorrow.

He gets crushed into so many hugs backstage that he thinks he may have strained something, shakes hands with the people who were invited backstage. He helps Rachel accept another huge bouquet from her dads (and seriously, she doesn’t have room for a potted plant in her apartment, he wishes her luck with finding somewhere to put it) and accepts their congratulations, putting effort into keep the genuine smile on his face.He’s about to excuse himself when his eyes flick to the door of the greenroom.

And then his arms are full, because Kurt has wrapped him up, squeezing him tight, and yeah, Kurt gives the best hugs in the world. “You were amazing,” Kurt says clearly, looking him in the eye. “Amazing, totally and... wow. It was even better than Fiyero, I’d say, although obviously the roles are different, so - but the point is, you sounded, you were -”

“You saw me in Wicked?” Blaine asks quietly, because that is brand new information.

Kurt freezes a little. “Just once,” he says breezily. “...Or four times, maybe, hey, look Rachel, hi, you were fantastic, here, come here now.”

You don’t ever need to ask Rachel Berry to bask in praise twice, and Blaine is slightly relieved when he finds himself pulled away after a few minutes of chatter to greet some friends who came backstage with Quinn.

He can see Wes and Quinn talking, both of them glancing over towards the other side of the room in what they seem to believe is a subtle manner. He doesn’t feel at all bad when Wes groans as he elbows him sharply in the ribs.

 

*

 

Their regular bar is predictably packed, and when what’s left of the cast, crew, and their guests filter in they don’t all really fit at the tables they find - Blaine isn’t sure how they got them, but as Rachel had taken point he probably doesn’t want to know. He hesitates for a moment when asked what he wants to drink - he does have to perform tomorrow after all - but Rachel grabs his hand and urges him to have just one, and really, why not? He takes his gin and tonic gratefully, and as he takes his first sip (a little heavy on the gin for his taste) he locks eyes with Kurt, who is squeezed up next to Tina on the opposite side of the booth. They’re laughing, Kurt gesturing towards an invisible something and he is silent mid-word. After a moment he smiles, returns to whatever he was saying, but Blaine gives himself an extra second or two to watch.

“Man, you two’ve got it bad,” says Tyler from his right, and normally Blaine totally appreciates his tendency to say exactly what he’s thinking, but right now is an exception.

“Hey, how’s your daughter doing? Is she liking the new school?” And just like that, with only a brief suspicious look at the topic change, they’re talking about the cost of New York tuition and Blaine’s sipping his drink again, a smile on his face.

*

Kurt and Tina do a shot of something, and the fact that they aren’t allowed to use their hands is something that Blaine finds a little distracting. He doesn’t find out what the shot is called until Kurt is delicately licking whipped cream off his lip and one of the drunker girls makes a comment about wishing she was that good at blowjobs.

He chokes on a piece of ice.

Peta hands him a shot of tequila and he takes it, toasts to a great performance and tries not to overanalyze the implications of doing shots with the fairy godmother as he winces at the strength. A wedge of lemon is thrust in his face; he closes his lips around and notices Kurt watching him.

He holds his eye, flicks his tongue around the slice slowly, and only looks away when Peta falls into his lap trying to get up to use the bathroom.

*

They stay for another couple of hours. Blaine switches to water (because he really does not want to make an idiot of himself, either tonight or in the aftermath tomorrow), and hangs around to make sure that everyone is getting home safely. He sees Peta and her husband into a cab, makes sure that the group walking to the subway is capable of getting there, and calls Justin’s boyfriend to find out his address so Tyler and Michelle can (peel him off the table) take him home.

He’s just about to ask if anyone wants to share a cab (he’s on Broadway now, he’s going to indulge just this once), up at the bar getting a glass of water for Shira’s friend, when he turns and nearly pours the whole thing over the person working his way past him. Kurt. Obviously.

“Sorry, sorry,” he babbles, flustered, and pulls the glass closer to his body.

Kurt waves a hand. “It’s fine. Just fighting my way back to the table.”

He looks slightly disheveled, hair a little windswept, scarf out of place, but decidedly sober. Blaine’s pretty sure the two of them are the most sober people there, and Kurt’s been dealing with an increasingly emotional Rachel for most of the evening.

“The show was really, really great,” Kurt offers again. “You should be really proud.”

Blaine shrugs gratefully, just like he has all evening. “Thanks. I’m hoping I’ll hit those notes in Act II a little more easily tonight, and I’ll pay more attention to -”

“Blaine.” Kurt’s voice is quiet. He looks up. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

“Do what?”

“Be him.”

“Who?”

“Him, be...” he seems to struggle for the word. “Perfect. Charming.”

Blaine obviously makes a face because Kurt holds up a hand and sighs. “That’s not what I - I know that you are - you’re just... good, and wonderful, and - and god, you’re a performer, I know, of course you want to be - but you don’t have to...I don’t mean - you don’t have to - say anything, or be anything, or feel anything, just because I tell you, I just -” His eyes flick briefly down to Blaine’s hand around the glass of water. “You’re amazing, Blaine Anderson, and I want you to hear me say that.”

It takes the breath out of him for a moment, those words and the clear blue-green of Kurt’s eyes focused on him. His hand shakes a little, and he’s grateful that the bar has mostly emptied out because it means he’s free to suck in a breath, close his eyes against the feeling rushing through every particle of his body. It’s adrenaline, yes - it’s been quite a day - but also something else... a warmth that isn’t foreign, as such, he’s known it to a lesser degree with his friends and even with his family, but so much more - affirming - than he remembers.

And yeah, he is proud of himself. He’s proud of himself and this little band of people that have been cobbled together to create something wonderful.

And so when he says thank you it’s real - not for the first time, because he has genuinely appreciated every compliment the night has brought him - but there’s a note of pride that’s a little stronger than it was before, and he remembers that hey, he’s a performer, and by bringing these characters to life he has the power to affect people, entertain them, move them.

And that’s completely and totally awesome, but he’s also really, really damn tired.

“Thank you,” he says again, and after he’s delivered the water he and two other cast members share a cab. He hugs Kurt goodbye on the sidewalk, and on the ride home he holds onto the sound of applause, the feel of arms tight around him, and the sincere set of Kurt’s eyes as he told Blaine that his performance matters.

*

The next day is hectic; there’s a short rehearsal in the afternoon, but most of the major work will be done during the week. About half of them are hung over, and there’s enough gossiping going on that he suspects at least a couple of those who left the bar early engaged in more than a pleasant conversation or a shared cab. For the most part everyone is in high spirits, though.

Nothing has been printed - and it probably won’t be for a few days, at least, the critics won’t all be coming out yet - but the buzz seems to be good. Someone in the green room has been obsessively tracking the show’s tag on Twitter, and so far Blaine’s heard that @althethtrjunkie loved his performance, @xxxmironxxx16 cried because he was so good, and @bwaybb94687 thinks he’s dreamy and his ass looked great in those pants.

“You’re welcome,” Kurt nods as he sweeps into the room, and Justin grins into his iPhone screen. Blaine’s blushing, but he’s also pretty sure that Kurt gave final costume notes earlier in the week, and it’s pretty weird for him to still be around.

“And to what do we owe your presence, Hummel?” Tyler asks him from the couch, not unkindly, but possibly slightly put out that Kurt just stepped directly in front of the baseball game.

“Well,” Kurt begins, “I -”

“I’m going to be calling twenty when I get back to the booth,” Quinn informs them from the doorway. “So, like, twenty-three and a half if that donor tries to hit on me in the - Kurt, why are you back here?”

“Thank you twenty-three and a half,” Blaine replies, dodging Quinn’s swat at his head as Kurt holds up his hands in surrender.

“No notes, I swear.” He picks up a folder off the pile of magazines on the side table. “Just picking this up, and here to see the show with some friends. With tickets. That they paid for... with comps.”

Quinn gives her her best stage manager glare and, even though he’s a designer and Blaine’s fairly certain he outranks her, Kurt starts for the door. “Break a leg, everyone. Shelly, Justin, Tyler -” his eyes pause on Blaine. “...Charming.”

He watches the tight pinstriped blazer disappear around the door and considers the merits of a note that says “do you like me check yes or no.”

*

Point for yes.

He makes the rounds after the show, greets a few of the important guests and some family members (and god, Peta’s daughter is precious in her little princess dress), but moves to change and take off his make-up pretty quickly. He’s not going out tonight; he knows Rachel and Tina have plans for late night sushi, but he’s still tired, and although the show went well he feels like he doesn’t have the energy to sit up straight, let alone be social. The next few performances are crucial: the producers have been treating the opening previews like rehearsal audiences, but they’re betting a lot on the next week, and Blaine wants to make sure that Charming’s at his best. He’s at his best. Whatever.

He’s pulled his bag over his shoulder and is pulling the door open - with one last glance over at the pictures tucked into his mirror, and the rose in a water bottle next to it - when he looks up and sees Kurt chatting to a group of people a few doors down. Kurt turns to him as he approaches, gives him that smile again - the one he believes must be some sort of magic. “It was wonderful, Blaine. You sounded - you were fantastic.”

A woman who must be one of Kurt’s friends pulls him in for a hug, echoes the sentiment and gives him a wink. He isn’t quite sure what to do with that. When Rachel demands her attention (“So, you work as a back-up singer? Do you find that being in someone’s shadow stifles your talent in any way?”) he and Kurt are on the periphery, and he really should say something...

“So, how many times are you plan-”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“-on seeing the show. Wait, sorry, what was that?”

Kurt’s cheeks are pink, and he looks a little startled. “Nothing, I just - I just asked, wondered, really, if you’d like to -”

“I’d love to. Yes. Please. Yeah.” Just in case he didn’t get in there quickly enough with the right number of affirmatives he nods. “I’d like that.”

“Oh.”

“Unless you don’t -”

“No, no, I do.” Kurt bites his lip. “Just to clarify, I’m asking you... out. On a date.”

“I know,” Blaine answers. “I was sort of getting to that, too.”

“Oh. Sorry to-”

“No, it’s totally good that you did. I probably would have talked myself out of it.”

Kurt tries to hide a grin, tilts his head. “That would have been a shame.”

He lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Thank god,” Kurt’s friend says in a stage whisper. “I thought I was going to die before one of them finally cracked.”

“Oh,” Rachel adds helpfully, “I knew it had to happen soon. Blaine’s been really quite twitchy in rehearsals lately, and I’ve noticed a definite increase in reaction whenever I mention Kurt’s name. Not to mention Kurt -”

Her treatise mercifully ends when Alicia comes to usher everyone out of the hallway, and if Blaine is sadly out of reach when Tyler yells “Tell Quinn she owes me ten bucks, it’s after eleven!”, he gets to walk out next to Kurt, quietly whisper “I’ll text you?” into his ear, and save his answering “please,” and the delight accompanying it, to lull him to sleep.

*

It turns out that opening a show on Broadway, albeit a new and unestablished one, sort of fills up your schedule.

They go back into rehearsals on Monday with notes from the producers and a few cuts. Rachel sobs onto Blaine’s shoulder through lunch when her Act II reprise of “Something More” is cut, and Mike gets very quiet when it’s announced that they’re re-choreographing part of the Act I finale.

He and Kurt text a little each day, but it really isn’t practical for Kurt to come down for their brief break; they both want their (first, of many?) date to be more than a quick sandwich at the deli on the corner. Kurt’s also in tech for another show (and Blaine has no idea how he has the time). So they finally decide on Sunday after Blaine’s matinee, and Blaine makes plans to tear out of the theater as soon as he’s offstage so he has time to get ready, as well as fend off Rachel’s helpful dating advice and Quinn’s smug head-pats.

Luckily the show finishes on time, he tears out the stage door to calls of “Break a leg, Sugar” (Peta) and “Get some, Anderson!” (Probably Tyler, but he can’t be sure), and screw Rachel Berry and her inability to speak at a normal volume, seriously, why are his co-workers so nosy?

They’re meeting at the restaurant. He knows it makes more sense - he might have even suggested it - but he can’t shake the idea of opening his door to find Kurt there... or Kurt opening his door, he’s not picky, but there’s something about the reveal he misses. It feels momentous, and perhaps he’s getting overly invested in a meal at the Italian restaurant two and a half blocks from his apartment, but if he’s going all besotted teenager then he might as well do it properly. It’s sort of nice, the fluttery nerves in his stomach.

Twenty five minutes before the appointed time he’s sitting on his couch holding two ties up to his shirt, and his cat is totally judging him. His phone buzzes.

Kurt is cancelling.

Kurt is moving to Guam.

Kurt didn’t actually mean to ask him out in the first place.

_So, I’m about a block away from the restaurant and it’s ridiculously early. Guess I’m excited. :)_

_That wasn’t meant to rush you._

_Take your time. You’re worth the wait._

_Not that I blame you for the waiting._

_Can you tell that I overtext when I’m nervous?_

He sways a little, because apparently he is twelve, and takes a deep breath.

_I live about two blocks from the restaurant, you can come meet me here._

Silence. Tabitha purrs what might be approval.

_I’d love to, but please don’t think I’m trying to invite myself over._

He texts back _don’t be a dummy_ and his address, goes to triple check his hair in the mirror.

**

There’s a sharp knock on his door and he makes sure to step into the kitchen on the way. When the door swings open he lets out a long breath because, wow - there was never any doubt that Kurt would look good, but seeing Kurt, at his apartment door, looking good is something else entirely. His eyes take in the hair, the shoes, the simply cut pants (legs, legs, legs for days), the anticipation bright in his face... and the single long-stemmed red rose in his hand.

“Hello,” he says finally. “You’re...amazing, you look amazing.”

“Thank you,” Kurt replies softly. “You look - I have exceptionally handsome company to keep.” Before Blaine can do anything - blush, stammer, trip over his tongue, he’s holding his hand out. “This is for - oh.”

They consider the matching long-stemmed roses they’re offering each other.

“...great minds think alike?” Blaine ventures.

Kurt opens his mouth, closes it, laughs. “For you, sir.” He plucks the rose from Blaine’s hand as soon as the one on his own has been taken and brings it to his nose. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“Thank you. I was just... would you like to come in?” His apartment’s a mess, but hopefully it’s mostly confined to the kitchen and his bedroom. He thinks he moved the laundry off the couch. Probably. Perhaps this is a bad idea -

“I’d love to.”

Kurt follows him through to the couch (which is thankfully free of socks, clean or otherwise), and Blaine gestures towards the tiny kitchen. “Drink? I have... um, orange juice, I think, and milk - no, wait. Oh, I do have a bottle of wine! We could drink that!”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t, I’m fine, you weren’t expecting -”

“It’s probably really expensive, my parents sent it when they couldn’t come.”

He can only blame that on nerves, and he’s not sure if he came across as more of a spoiled rich kid or a poor spoiled rich kid. What a way to start - and possibly end - a date.

And then Kurt laughs.

It’s short, sweet, and he can’t help but smile back. Kurt waves a hand, says, “In that case, why don’t I pour us a glass of wine and push our reservation back a little, and you can put another sock on and introduce me to the tabby giving me the evil eye?.. that is, if you’re okay with that. We can go, talk there, I just thought that this -”

“I’d like that.”

He points him in the direction of wine glasses and a corkscrew (he can’t be the only person in the world that doesn’t do his dishes immediately, right?), and by the time he has located and put on his other sock Kurt is sitting on the couch, two wine glasses in front of him as he eyes Tabitha warily.

“She won’t bite. Kurt, meet Tabitha.” Kurt stands, holds out a glass. “Thank you. Mostly she just perches and watches judgmentally.”

“Well then, she and I should get along wonderfully.”

They sit, clink glasses quietly, and Blaine’s couch is pretty small so he feels justified in scooting a little closer.

Kurt purses his lips, looks into his glass. “I have a sort of confession to make.”

“Does it include you seeing me in Wicked four times?”

“Oh...you remember that?”

“I do.”

“No, not that, I just...” He looks up. “I’ve sort of been hoping for this for a while. A long time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He licks his lips, decides to push his luck. “How long?”

Kurt’s nose wrinkles adorably. “Since... I met you? I mean, obviously I was... I loved watching you on stage. I guess I had sort of a crush, when I looked you up and heard you were... but when I met you...” he trails off. “God, this is too much, I’m sorry.” He leans away, and Blaine sets his glass down on the coffee table, puts a hand on his arm.

“Kurt, I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. I’ve been wanting to... say something, but I didn’t think...”

“What?”

“I guess that’s it,” he smirks. “You sometimes stop me thinking. You’re... amazing.”

Kurt’s hand is in his then, fingers tugging him closer and he braces one arm behind Kurt so that he can-

Oh.

The wine tastes far better on Kurt’s lips, and he’s frozen for a moment - this is happening, this is happening, I am kissing Kurt and he is kissing me - before his hand moves to Kurt’s cheek and he can deepen the kiss. He feels so young, alive, so rich with this, what could - can? - be, and Kurt’s fingers are in his hair, breath sharp in his ears, and Kurt’s pressed back into the cushions. And his throat is warm, delicious, perfect -

“Mrrw!”

Kurt starts at the sound, and they both look over at Tabitha, curled up on top of the bookshelf, watching.

“I don’t know if that was a noise of approval or not.” Kurt says with a hand to his hair, moving to sit up, and Blaine already misses the warmth. And the lips. And the neck. Mostly the Kurt.

“I don’t know either.” He looks at their glasses, then over to the clock. “If we’re going to make our new reservation we should probably... leave soon.”

“What a shame,” Kurt smiles. “I was enjoying our talking.” He pauses and his eyes widen. “I mean, I actually do enjoy talking to you, I just really liked -”

“Me too,” he answers quickly. “I do too, but that was really, really nice.” Kurt squeezes his hand (and hey, they’re still holding hands). “I’m pretty sure I have, um, pasta, or something. If you wanted to keep talking, instead of -”

Their plans are swallowed in another kiss, and as Blaine’s head hits the cushions he barely hears his cat hiss and stalk out of the room over the quiet, melting moan (that feels like it’s liquid sunshine and hot chocolate and want, want, want) slipping from his lips and pouring its way down to his toes.

*

About an hour later they peel themselves off the couch, and Blaine discovers that he’s been keeping Kurt there under false pretenses.

“I swear, I really thought I had pasta, or something...”

“That isn’t past its expiration date or a condiment?” Blaine shrugs, embarrassed. “What I meant to say,” Kurt adds hastily, “is that my apartment is the same right now.” He pulls a flyer off the counter. “How do you feel about Chinese? We can actually talk this time. Not that making out on your couch wasn’t great... really, really great.”

They’re back on the couch as soon as Blaine puts down the phone, but over cheap take-out they discuss Kurt’s show, what it felt like to move to New York after Ohio, which superpower they’d like, what the City means to them now, and which Meg Ryan movie is their favorite. There’s a movie on in the background, but when it ends they don’t notice - Blaine is gesticulating with his wine glass while Kurt laughs into his arm at his impression of his first off-off-Broadway director, who had a tendency towards over enthusiasm and a general disregard for safety.

“Not really,” Kurt gasps. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Twice,” Blaine insists. “The entire cast mutinied. He showed up with floaties to a bare stage, with the stage manager sitting there, saying everyone had complained about inhumane treatment.”

He throws back his head in another deep laugh, reaches for his glass of water. “That’s amazing. The weirdest I can claim is a director who decided to restage The Wizard of Oz set in 16th century France.” He holds up a finger. “The flying monkeys were draped in pearls, naturally.”

“No.”

“With little monkey-courtesan wigs. I’m sure all the students who had to come see it for class credit had a similar reaction.” His eyes flick over the clock, then back. “Is it really that late?”

Almost one in the morning. “It didn’t feel like - sorry I kept you so late.” When Kurt moves to stand Blaine mirrors him. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay. Not that I’m saying we’d - just so you don’t have to -”

“I know.” There’s a pause, and Blaine holds his breath. “I think... I think I’d better call a cab, but thank you.” Kurt picks his tie up off the table, turns back from a few steps away to tilt his head and add, “I know you’re a gentleman, but this has been... wonderful, and if I stay I’m not sure I can promise the same.”

Blaine’s pretty sure he trips over his tongue on the way to the door, but when they get there Kurt pulls him into another kiss, a slow, lingering goodbye, and he forgets to care. He’s breathless when they pull apart, but gratified to notice that he isn’t the only one.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says finally. “Thank you for dinner.”

“We ate take-out on your couch, Blaine.”

“I am really, really not complaining, and I hope you aren’t either, because I’m pretty sure that was... well, I really enjoyed it.”

“Me too. We should...”

“Do it again?”

“No, Blaine, never speak of it. Yes, of course I want to do it again.” He raises an eyebrow. “Hopefully Tabitha won’t mind.”

“She’ll come around.” He leans against the doorjamb. “I could walk you downstairs.”

“With no socks or shoes on?” He steps close, palm to Blaine’s cheek. “Let me leave you here, where it’s warm.” A quick press of lips. “I’ll call you?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Kurt.”

He’s pretty sure Kurt winks as he pats his cheek and heads for the stairs. “Goodnight, Blaine.”

And if he swoons a little against the closed door, closes his eyes for a moment and then dances his way down the hallway...so what? There’s no one there to see him.

Well, except for the cat.

***

Four months later.

“This is your fault.”

Kurt looks up from the pillow and smirks, pulls the sheet up and settles down to watch his boyfriend hop around pulling on his sock. “Mmm... I don’t think so.”

“I am so late; Quinn is going to kill me -”

“She’ll write you up in the show report.”

“Screw the show report, let’s see you caring about the show report when Quinn has buried me under the orchestra seating.”

Kurt’s still lazy with pleasure, hums thoughtfully. “I’ll visit you every week - twice on matinee days.”

Blaine has progressed to flattening out his hair in the bathroom mirror. “Your fault, you always know I have a matinee, and yet you lie there on Sunday morning -”

“I was already here -”

“ - ridiculously attractive, how is that even fair? Am I supposed to say -”

“You’d better take your phone, here.”

“-sorry, ridiculously attractive boyfriend, actually I have to go bring Rachel Berry her goddamn green tea -”

“You did promise to bring her tea every Sunday to assuage your guilt for the whole -”

“It is not my fault she can’t knock. We weren’t even -”

“Yet, but you did forget to lock the door.”

“It’s my dressing room!”

“Yes, well.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Want to come over to my place tonight?”

He grabs his watch off the bedside table, grimaces at it. “Won’t the roommate mind?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s staying over at her new guy’s place.”

“Him? Still?”

Kurt shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants,” and when he smiles Blaine can’t help but lean in for just one more -

“No. No, stop it. This is how we got in this mess - not a word - where are my keys?”

“On the coffee table, and I left a thermos of soup on the counter for you to take. And take the vitamins, half the ensemble’s got the plague.”

Blaine pauses in the doorway, turns.

Kurt blinks. “What?”

“Nothing, I just... really, really love you.”

“Good, I’d hope so. Now go charm old ladies.”

The memory of Kurt’s familiar, shouted ‘Love you too’ as he reaches the apartment door, of long, unhurried gasps in sheets scattered with the morning sunlight, of delicious homemade soup are what keep Blaine smiling through Quinn’s glares, Tyler’s coughing fit during Act II, and Rachel’s post-show tirade about inconsiderate neighbors, all the way to Kurt’s doorstep to soak up another night of him before they get back to their busy weeks.

The door opens, blue eyes alight with excitement as Kurt tells him about the phone call he just got, the director who wants him to step in last minute and costume his planned revival of Phantom. Blaine punctuates his congratulations with a warning to stay away from the leading man, and Kurt pokes him and it’s good, everything in their tiny corner of New York City is so good, so right.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two months after that._  
  
Kurt brings him coffee late at night when he’s sitting in front of his computer, cursor blinking accusingly at him like it knows he has no idea where to start. It’s all very well for him to want to write a play, but, he confides to his boyfriend’s chest at 2am, sometimes it’s hard to find the words. Kurt says nothing that time, just listens and kisses him on the forehead, makes sure his reading glasses make it back into their case for tomorrow.  
  
He doesn’t know what to do, sometimes, how to explain to Kurt how amazing he is, how much he deserves. He thinks Kurt understands, sometimes, how lucky Blaine feels to be loved by him, but he still tries to remind him every way he can. At the end of a long week, when the latest show is going up too soon and two members of the casts have managed to go up or down a dress size, and the director has decided he doesn’t like the concept after all, so there’s days of redesigning to go through, Blaine is there to hold him, bring him coffee of his own, make him a sandwich and insist that he take a break, go to sleep, go for a walk.  
  
When they see a good show - and with Blaine’s schedule it’s rarer than they’d like - and Kurt sings the score quietly on the way home, thumbing his playbill and Blaine knows he’s thinking of his name in there in  _cast_ , in lights, his voice in a house filled with people listening. It isn’t often, isn’t consuming, but it’s there, just like when they go to karaoke and Kurt sings with Tina, or Rachel, or him.  
  
He‘s almost surprised at the applause, blinking like maybe he’s forgotten that he’s extraordinary.  
  
And while god knows Kurt doesn’t need to sing to be amazing - he’s so much more than just his voice, and his talents, well, Blaine’s sort of jealous - it seems as time goes on that maybe he’s a little restless. It’s tough for Blaine to know that he’s got to let Kurt work on it for himself, as long as he knows that he’ll always be there.  
  
*  
  
Meeting Blaine’s parents is something they talk about for a long time in the abstract before it actually happens. They agree they aren’t ready when they first come to see the show, a month after the two of them start dating, but later it’s the subject of more than one argument. Being with Kurt has gone a long way to reminding Blaine that he has people who love him unconditionally, even if his parents have trouble expressing it, and he thinks that Charming, in his way, has helped too. You don’t discover your-stage-self and your (his) self-confidence eight times a week in front of hundreds of people without it leaving some sort of mark.  
  
When Blaine gets the call that they’re coming for a long weekend - a meeting that Blaine’s mom is turning into a shopping trip - he sits on his couch and thinks about it for all of five minutes. He and Kurt have been together for months, are pretty much splitting time between their apartments; once Kurt’s current project is over, and they have more time together, he’s already working out how to ask him if he wants to live together. He feels good about this, about them, his life, and his career - even if he doesn’t renew his commitment to the show his agent seems confident he’ll be able to find a good offer, although he’s thinking of taking a break from acting to work on other things. His parents know about Kurt, and that he’s happy, and he thinks Kurt knows too. And he  _knows_.  
  
He knows this is it. He knows Kurt is the one.  
  
He picks up his phone, waits.  
  
“Hey, I know you’re working, but quick question. Are you free for dinner on Friday?”  
  
*  
  
 _Six months after that._  
  
 _From: Kurt  
Received: 03:14pm  
oh my god Blaine are you there  
  
From: Kurt  
Received: 03:15pm  
Blaine I got it. I got the callback!!!  
  
From: Kurt  
Received: 03:15pm  
They want to see me do something uptempo - brainstorm over chinese 2night? xx  
  
From: Kurt  
Received: 03:16pm  
oh thursday at 2 are you in rehearsal or is that the day you meet with the producers?  
  
From: Kurt  
Received: 03:16pm  
because i’m coming with you but we’ll have to work that out - talk to you when you get home. ahh so excited and nervous they WANT ME TO READ WITH HER  
  
From: Kurt  
Received: 03:16pm  
oh my god I’m going to throw up on the f train._  
  
*  
  
 _Three years after that._  
  
 **Blaine Anderson** * (Playwright) is most known for his work on Broadway, where he originated the role of Prince Charming in the Tony nominated  _Ella!_ , having previously worked on the National Tours of  _Wicked_  (Fiyero),  _Joseph_... (Swing), and  _Bye Bye Birdie_  (Swing, U/s. Albert). Prior to that his credits are varied, ranging from off-Broadway to show choir back in his home state of Ohio, as a Dalton Academy Warbler. He holds a B.F.A in musical theater from Tisch School of the Arts (NYU). Since his Broadway debut he has been busy: following  _Ella!_  he stepped in as a replacement in the Broadway Cast of the revival of West Side Story (Tony), and then took a break from acting to concentrate on other projects. His first play, the New York Critic’s Choice award-winning  _Charmed_ , opened off-Broadway in February of last year and this, his sophomore work, is a huge departure from anything he’d ever thought to write. Mr. Anderson lives in New York City with his husband, Kurt, and their judgemental cat Tabitha. He’d like to thank both of them, as well as his family and friends, for their patience and inspiration, and add that his best ideas still often occur over take-out, talked over on an old, worn out couch.  
  
*  
  
Six weeks after that: Featured Article on allthebroadwaynews.com  
  
 __ **EXCLUSIVE: The Hummel-Andersons: Broadway’s Power-Couple on Long hours, Children, and pursuing their dreams.**  
  
With Blaine working on another piece to follow his sophomore work - currently half way through a sold-out off-Broadway run! - and Kurt in rehearsals for one of this season’s most anticipated new shows, how do the busy couple deal with the pressures of the public eye, and keep the spark alive? And what’s up next?  
  
Minnie Sutton, staff writer  
(Photos by Chandra Han)  
  
Firstly, let me answer the most pressing question: Yes, the Hummel-Andersons are actually the cutest couple on Earth.  
  
Our interview took place over brunch at a quaint diner uptown, and Kurt, waiting for me in the couple’s favorite corner booth, was full of apologies for his husband’s tardiness (apparently he needed to drop off the dry-cleaning on the way).  
  
Over pancakes (Kurt and myself) and an omelette (Blaine, although I’m sure the internet will be delighted to know that they shared a few forkfuls) Broadway’s golden couple gave yours truly the scoop on their next steps, both professionally and personally, what brought them together, and highlights from the last year (including Kurt’s best supporting actor Tony nomination and Blaine’s writing inspiration!). They also gave us the latest on baby rumors, their involvement with causes close to their hearts, and how they feel about a relationship partially in the public eye.   
  
 **Interview after the jump!**  
  
****


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